The Fall of a Sparrow
by 5X5andfeelingfine
Summary: "The play's the thing..." At least that's what Sam tells Dean when he convinces Dean to take the part of Horatio for Sam's theatre club. Soon, he gains the friendship of fellow show misfit Castiel Novak, Resident Dramaturge. Will Dean be able to sort out his feelings to Cas, or figure out what a dramaturge even does? Cas/Dean, Sam/Amelia. T for now, eventual M for sexy times.
1. Chapter 1

"Puppets are kind of cool," Sam said as he walked past, his nose shoved into a book. Dean grunted from his spot on the couch, not looking away from the TV. "No really," Sam continued. "Like, there was this guy…"

"Jim Henson?" Dean asked, snickering at his own joke. "What're they teaching you at this school, Sammy?"

Sam shrugged, still reading. "Theatre class sounded more fun than English. It gets me my writing course. Besides," Sam looks at Dean, "Drama class was fun in high school."

Dean grunted, but felt a swell of pride as he remembered Sam during the school plays he always tried out for. Despite how lame they usually were, Sam had shone from the group of mediocre misfits that made up the Drama Club.

Sam frowned at Dean. "What? You took Drama in high school."

Dean raised a finger. "No exams. I just had to memorize shit and breathe a lot." He smiled. "You could do all the work ten minutes before class."

Shaking his head, Sam went back to his room. "Whatever," he said. "Can you pick me up from school on Thursday? I'm staying late for that audition."

"Yeah, sure." Dean rolled his eyes.

"No, really."

"I always do, don't I?" And Dean wad right. He was always there for his brother, even when they both knew it was a bad idea.

Sam smiled, and punched his brother in the arm. "Wanna run lines? I could use the practice."

Dean groaned. "Only if you get me another beer. And do the dishes." Sam smiled and skipped off to his room. Damn, that boy was like one giant puppy, paws to big and needing to be grown into. He was so nervous about this stupid audition. The university theatre society was putting on_ Hamlet_, and Sam had nearly started crying when he'd told Dean. He kept talking about it, how awesome it would be to get a part, have something to do in the evenings other than studying. Dean didn't let Sam get a job while he was in school; he wanted him to focus on learning and getting good grades. "And well, just, _Hamlet_," Sam would say. He could be such a little bitch sometimes. Dean hoped Sam would get a role, even if he put off an indifferent disposition.

Sam returned, and handed Dean some pages. "The highlighted part," Sam said, pointing. "Make sure I say it right."

"Yeah, yeah."

Taking a deep breath, Sam thought for a moment, and began speaking, "O that this too too solid flesh would melt, thaw and resolve itself into a dew…"

* * *

Sam was pacing up and down the hallway when Dean came to find him.

"They're running late," Sam said before Dean could ask. Dean raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

"How late?"

"I'm next." Sam stood alone in the hallway, everyone else having gone home."

"You okay?" Dean asked, noticing how pale Sam looked.

Sam just smiled nervously. He turned around and walked back to where his bag was sitting on the floor, and stared at it. He turned back to Dean. "Maybe this was a mistake," he said, his face crumbling slightly. "I could just let them know something's come up, and we could go home."

Dean frowned. "No," he said. This was the most excited about something Dean had seen Sam get in months. Sammy needed this more than he was willing to admit. "You want this, right?" Same nodded slowly. "Then we're gonna go get this." Dean grabbed Sammy's shoulder, hard and affectionate, and gave it a tight squeeze. "You need backup in there?"

Sam smiled. "You don't mind?"

Dean cuffed his brother lightly on the head. "Shut up, bitch."

"Jerk."

A door opened, and a girl with dark brown curls walked out. She smiled at Sam.

"How'd it go?" Same asked.

She shrugged. "I guess we'll see. Apparently it's been mostly first and second year students. The play conflicts with the departments productions." She smiled shyly at Dean, before turning back to Sam. "Break a leg," she said to Sam, knocking a hand against his arm. She walked away quickly, Sam's eyes trailing after her as she did.

"Who's she?" Dean asked.

"A girl from my classes," Sam replied, noncommittal. Dean wanted to tease him, but knew this wasn't the best time. Sam took a breath, and stepped into the room, Dean not far behind.

Inside was a table, three people sitting at it talking in hushed tones, papers strewn over the top. A pretty, blonde haired girl smiled when they came in, her eyes scanning to the paper in front of her. "Sam Winchester?" she asked.

"That's me," Sam said, holding out his hand to shake hers. "This is my brother, Dean. He's just here to watch, if that's okay."

"Why not," said the man next to the blonde girl, holding out his hand next. "Last one of the night, eh?" His English accent slid out of his mouth, his eyes over-bright and tired. "I'm Balthazar, the director. This fetching young thing is our stage manager, Jo Hargrove."

"Nice to meet you," Sam said, smiling.

"Are you auditioning too, Dean?" Jo asked, looking at him. Both Sam and Dean laughed.

"Ah, no. Ha ha, I haven't acted since high school," Dean mumbled nervously. "And even then I was no good." Jo grinned at him, and he shyly grinned back.

"High school drama class," Balthazar laughed. "The best way to make someone hate theatre." He laughed at his own joke, and Dean copied, more uncertain. "Guess it depends on what you do," Dean said.

Jo apologized for interrupting, and turned to Balthazar with a question. Dean placed himself on a chair in the corner, carefully studying each person in turn. Jo looked tired, but seemed to smile genuinely at Sam, even looking over and waving a little at Dean. Balthazar looked older, and Dean thought he remembered Sam saying that one of the TA's for his class was directing the show. Last, Dean's eyes came to rest on the man seated next to Balthazar, bags hanging under his eyes, his hair looking like he had just rolled out of bed. He wore his coat, a tan trench coat on, even though the room was a comfortable enough temperature in Dean's mind.

"This is Castiel, our resident dramaturge," Balthazar said to Sam, as they finished a conversation Dean had been ignoring.

Dean hid a snort. It was a stupid sounding word. Sammy seemed to eat it up though, smiling intensely at all of them.

"Pleasure to meet you," said the man, his gruff voice quiet.

Jo took Sam's resume and paperwork, and they asked him a couple quick questions about school and availability. He answered them, nervous, but holding it together. Dean smiled at his brother, holding it together when he knew how terrified Sammy was right now. Balthazar had Sam say the monologue he had prepared, and Dean smiled harder when Sam rocked it out. He glared at the blank expressions the group gave behind their desk – didn't they see how awesome Sam was? Balthazar smiled politely, and then gave some direction to Sam, who said the monologue again, the director staring intently but not smiling. He thanked Sam, and turned to Jo, whispering something to her.

"Would you mind reading this?" Balthazar asked, and looked up and down at his companions. "Anyone want to read for Horatio?" Castiel purposefully looked away, and Jo sighed. "There's a reason why we're behind the scenes, Balthazar," she joked. He smiled, and then turned to Dean. "Unless your brother doesn't mind helping us…"

Dean blinked, and looked at Sam, who was giving Dean is puppy dog face, unbeknownst to Balthazar and the rest. Dean sighed. "Okay," he said uncertainly. "At least Sammy will look great, next to me," he joked, and Balthazar smiled slightly. He felt the pressure of having to do well for Sammy, and felt himself scanning the lines a couple of times.

"What're we reading?" Sam asked.

"A quick scene between Hamlet and Horatio, top of the first page to the bottom of the next," Balthazar breathed, and Dean suspected that the man was getting too much enjoyment out of this.

"Can we take a second?" Dean asked, and Jo nodded. He and Sam stepped aside, and took a moment to read through the text together, Dean feeling himself beginning to sweat. It was hard, all the words were strange to him and in poetry. He focused, and once they had read through it once, they turned back to Balthazar.

"Whenever you're ready," said Balthazar. "Jo will read for the other characters."

Dean looked at Sam uncertainly, and Sam smiled back. Taking a deep breath, Dean felt the words fall clumsily out of him, "Hail to his lordship!"

They went through the scene together, and stood awkwardly once they finished. Jo was staring at Balthazar, who was staring at them. Castiel shuffled his papers, writing something down.

"Good," he said. And he gave them direction, and had them do the scene again. Dean did his best to not embarrass Sam. Then Balthazar had them switch roles, and Dean asked for a moment to look over the words again. He wished everything could be over, but he had to do this. Sammy was counting on him, and he wanted his brother to get cast so bad. Finally, Balthazar smiled, and said he was done.

"We'll be emailed people about roles by Sunday evening, or early next week," Balthazar said. Dean tried to smile at them while Sam shook their hands again. His eyes fell onto Castiel, the drama-whatever. He was staring at Dean in a peculiar way, his intensely blue eyes unreadable. Dean looked away first, almost running from the room as Sam followed him.

"The shit I do for you," he said when they were in the hallway.

"Sorry," Sam said. "You did fine though."

Dean grunted. "You ready to go?"

"Let me just check on thing," he said. "Wait here?"

Dean grumbled and watched Sam run off. He checked his phone for the time, and shuffled his boots, ready to be home. The door creaked open, and he looked up to see Castiel walking past him. The other man saw him, and his mouth tightened into a line, his brow furrowing. Dean doesn't really know how to react. Castiel had barely said a word the entire audition. He hesitantly raises a hand in greeting, which Castiel interprets as an invitation to walk towards him. Shit.

"Dean," Castiel says, sizing him up at he comes to stand a little to closer for comfort.

"Uh... hey, Castiel. Right?"

"Yes."

They stand for a moment. Small talk must not be this guy's strength.

"So, what is it you're doing for the play?"

"I'm the dramaturge." He pronounces it differently than Balthazar. Dean thinks that maybe it's something that doesn't really exist.

"What do you _do_, then?"

Castiel tilts his head slightly. "I research and act as a consultant for various aspects of the play." He adjusts the strap of his bag across his shoulder. "For example, I helped edit the script into a more manageable length."

Dean nods, shifting under Castiel's gaze. Man, can this guy ever stare. "Sounds… fun." He hopes that's an acceptable word to describe something that to Dean, honestly, sounds a lot like a circle of hell than anything else.

"It's a very stimulating activity," Castiel says. "There is much to consider."

Dean hears Sam calling for him, and he feels a sense of relief.

"Nice to, ah, meet you," he offers feebly. "See you around, maybe."

"Yes," Castiel says. "See you." He says it like he's testing the words out, unsure of how they feel as they come out of him.

"What were you guys talking about," Sam asks when they're out of Castiel's earshot.

"I don't even know," Dean admitted. "Whatever it is he does."

"Dramaturge," Sam said.

"Whatever." Dean's patience with the day was nearing its end. He led Sam to their car, and drove home as fast he could.

* * *

"Dean!" Sammy shouted. "Dean, come here!"

"Busy," Dean replied, flipping lazily through channels as he sipped his beer.

"No Dean, really. You gotta see this."

Dean sighed, and walked to Sam's room. He leaned against the doorframe and glared at his baby brother. "What?"

"I got in! They cast me."

Dean smiled, this stomach swelling to see Sam to happy. "Great. Who're you playing?"

Sam's face lit up, his smile beaming. "Hamlet."

Dean punched Sam in the shoulder, he was so happy. "Ow! Dean," Sam said as Bean scooped him up into a hug.

"That's my Sammy!" he shouted.

"Dean, you're… argh… hurting me."

Dean let go of his brother, instead placing a hand on his shoulder. "This is awesome," Dean exclaimed.

"It gets better," Sam said, but his voice was unsure.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Well, they asked me to, um, ask you something."

Dean looked confused. "What?"

Sam smiled. "Well, they mentioned how much they liked our scene together during the audition, and they were wondering if you wanted to play Horatio."

Dean laughed. Sam didn't laugh back. So Dean laughed again.

"Wait," he said.

"You really impressed them," Sam said.

"You're kidding."

"I'll show you the email."

Dean scratched his head. "They want… _me_?"

"Yeah. Dean, you were really good in that audition. I could tell they were impressed."

Dean felt his stomach fall. "Sammy," he said.

"Come on!" Sam interrupted. "It'll be fun!" Sam pulled out his puppy dog eyes, looking so damn pathetic.

"I can't act!" Dean said. "I'm no good."

"Good enough, apparently." Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Please Dean, it'll be fun. I promise. They need actors, anyway."

"Yeah, apparently," Dean scoffed, but he already felt Sam convincing him. Damn.

"They're doing the read-through this Sunday," Sam said. "Balthazar said you could come and read, and decide after." Dean scrunched up his face. "Please, just try it out."

"Fine," Dean grumbled. "I'll play along. But if I don't like it, I'm quitting. None of your whining then, deal?"

Sam grinned. "Deal."

He reached out and grabbed Dean's hand, making it official. Dean murmured something about needing some sleep, and turned in early that night, only to have nightmares of him standing under a bright light, eyes watching him.

* * *

_Reviews are welcome and make me smile! Hopefully will have the next chapter up soon!_


	2. Chapter 2

Sam dropped a pile of pages in front of Dean.

"What is that?" Dean's lip curled in disgust as he pointed his fork at the bundle, a half-eaten bite of dinner obscuring his words.

"Your script," Sam said. "For _Hamlet_?" he finished when Dean stared at him blankly.

"No."

"Dean…"

"I didn't sign up for this."

"It's _Hamlet_," Sam said. "This is literally what you signed up for."

"No, this," Dean said, picking up the pages. "This is a freakin' marathon."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Just try, please," he said turning back to his room. "You promised you'd try."

Dean grunted, and glared at the script in front of him. He thumbed through the first few pages, finishing his meal. The words failed to make sense, and he quickly tossed it away. He spent the week working overtime at the repair shop, working on a car for some millionaire mid-life crisis candidate looking to get a spiffy new car. Didn't matter. The guy was willing to pay Dean money to completely rebuild a sweet classic T-Bird, all top of the line. At night, he'd stare until his eyes burned at the pages, trying to decipher the words, or at the very least, be able to fake his way through the read through.

* * *

Sunday came all too quickly. Sam nervously shifted in the passenger seat as Dean drove them to the rehearsal.

"You'll be fine," Dean said, briefly taking his eyes from the road to see Sam worrying the cuff of his plaid shirt.

Sam attempted to smile, and stared out the window. They pulled up to the university's art centre and parked. Dean followed Sam into the building's basement, turning corridors until tthey found a mirrored rehearsal room, where a group of people assembled around a square of tables. There was coffee and dry-looking cookies in a corner. Dean mumbled to Sam, pointing to the corner, and shuffled to the table. Coffee in hand, he scanned the room, trying to figure out the vibe. Sam had found his way over to the brown-haired girl from the audition. He stood in the larger group, talking easily, if not a little nervously. Balthazar talked to Jo, his hands gesticulating around her as she took notes. Nearby, a pretty red-head and a guy with a mullet talked quietly as if they were conspiring.

"Hello Dean."

"Shit! Jesus… hey," Dean rubbed the back of his hand. Somehow, Castiel had snuck up on him, standing next to the coffee machine, hands shoved into his trench coat's pockets. "Cas, how's it going?"

Casitel stared at him evenly, frowning slightly. "Fine," he said, his voice sounding gravelly and flat. He turned, and picked up the plate of cookies. "Cookie?" he asked, holding the plate towards Dean.

"Ah, thanks," Dean said. He took a cookie, and bit into it. He gagged, trying to keep his composure and not upchuck the disgusting food.

"I know," he said. "They're disgusting. Balthazar brought them. He told me I had to hand them out and introduce myself," Castiel turned and looked at the others, laughing and talking in groups a little ways away from where they stood. Dean could tell the other man wasn't interested in his task, and Dean couldn't blame him. Everyone already knew everyone else, it seemed He stood on the outskirts, eating drinking bad coffee and eating worse cookies.

Dean noticed Castiel eyeing him. "Are you a fan of Shakespeare?" Castiel asked awkwardly.

"Not really," Dean admitted.

Castiel blinked, almost like he was confused. "Why not?"

Before Dean could answer, Jo's voice cut through the noise of the room. "We're gonna get started, so if everyone would like to take a seat…"

Dean shrugged at Castiel, and walked to a spot beside Sam that his brother had saved for him. He noticed that the brown-haired girl sat on Sam's other side. The rest of the cast settled, and Balthazar smiled at them.

"Hello all," he cheerily quipped. "I'm very excited to be finally getting to work. Quickly, I want to jump right in to reading, but I first want to introduce our fabulous crew. Jo Harvelle, our wonderful stage manager," Jo nodded and smiled. "Next we have our lighting designer and operator, Charlie Bradbury," the red-head nodded, narrowing her eyes and scanning the crowd as if she were daring them to do… something. "Our Ash here will be our sound technician," the mullet-ed man raised a first in the air, grinning stupidly. "And lastly, here tonight we have our dramaturge, Castiel." Castiel looked up from his notebook, looking around the room uncomfortably. "We won't see much of Ash and Charlie, I'm afraid, till later in rehearsal, but Cassie here will be popping by to help every couple of weeks." There was a quick, round-the-table name exchange, Dean noticing a smile flicker to Sam's lips when the brown-haired girl, Amelia, stated her name.

"Alright then," said Balthazar, smiled. "Let's read!"

Dean hadn't expected to have as much fun as he had. He'd been reading the play for a week now, but it wasn't until that room that Dean started to understand why Sammy was so invested in the play. Dean found himself laughing with the other cast members at jokes, feeling involved and anxious as the plot moved forward. Dean was surprised when Jo called for a fifteen minute break, signalling the halfway point. He leaned back in his chair, watching as people stood up and began to chat among themselves.

Sam turned to Amelia, playing Ophelia, it turned out, and began to talk about school. Dean could tell his little brother was nervous. It had been a while since Dean had seen Sam interested in a girl, and it made his chest squeeze tight, even if it was a hair's breadth from being a dorky middle school kind of crush. Not wanting to hover over his brother's game, Dean stood up, and walked into the hallway, looking for the water fountain he'd seen coming in.

He almost wasn't surprised to see Castiel standing at it, filling his water bottle, frowning went it wouldn't fit under the stream of water properly.

"So what do you think," Dean said, trying to be friendly. "Are we going to take this show all the way to the big times?"

"A mid-sized production like this, with our budget? Unlikely." Dean stared at Castiel, trying to figure out if he could save the joke. Castiel looked up at him, then shook his head like he was trying to jiggle something out of it. "Sorry, I get very literal when my mind is elsewhere." He stepped away from the fountain bringing the bottle to his lips. Dean had watched during the read through as Cas scribbled violently into a notebook, flipping quietly through pages of the script as the play. Dean "What were you writing about," he asked as he slid past him, drinking from the fountain.

"Notes," said Castiel. "There were things that were said that I wanted to remember for later."

Dean stood, frowning at him. "We were reading from a script," he said.

Cas shook his head again. "Sorry, my brain's still in Denmark," he said, not joking. "I was making notes of how things were said, or how they could be said, for Balthazar. It's part of the job, sort of. Interpretations that I think might be useful. By the way, when you see the accent, it means you're supposed to stress that syllable."

"The what?" Dean asked, confused and a little embarrassed.

"It means you're saying it wrong," said the red-haired girl, Charlie, rounding a corner with Ash close behind, their arms bursting with vending machine snacks. "Like despis_èd_, surpris_èd_." She came to stand next to Castiel, giving Dean the once over.

"Be nice, Charlie," Ash mumbled through a mouthful of candy. "Hi, I'm Ash," he said, smiling and doing a one-handed salute, trying to keep the bags of chips, nachos, and candy bars from falling to the floor.

"Dean," he said, nodding stiffly.

"Break's almost up," Charlie said, walking past Dean, turning back to look at Castiel. Ash smiled, and followed her in.

"She's kinder once she decides she likes you," Castiel said, heading back to the room. "And you're doing fine. Half the actors in there are forgetting to stress the syllable as well."

"Um, thanks," Dean mumbled, trying to accept Castiel's condolences.

"Besides, for someone who's never worked with verse before, you have a good grasp of the metre."

"Dude, I don't think you're speaking English," Dean said, uncomfortable from the compliment.

Dean looked up to see the other man staring at him, and he felt his skin shiver. Castiel face seemed fixed at the point between blankness and the moment before a smile, head tilted slightly to the side.

"You don't fuck up the words too much," Castiel said, a smile ghosting to his lips.

Dean felt himself smiling back. "Yeah, that's really what I was trying to go for with the character, not fucking it up." Castiel chuckled softly, and led the way back into the room.

* * *

The rest of the read-through went quickly, Balthazar looking pleased at the end. He smiled at Sam and Dean as they left, heading out into the night as Amelia walked beside Sam, chatting easily, shyly attempting to include Dean in the conversation. It was raining, and cast and crew ran for their cars, or pulled up coat collars or hidden umbrellas to keep dry. Most had already left, but Castiel stood at the door, gripping the strap of his bag and staring out into the night.

"Shit," Amelia said, staring outside. "So much for walking."

"We can give you a ride!" Sam exclaimed, looking over his shoulder to his brother. "Right, Dean?"

Dean nodded, trying not to look annoyed. He was protective of his car, and had to fight the urge to say no. Looking to the side, he caught of Castiel, holding a phone to his ear, overhearing him calling a cab. Dean walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. "We can give you a ride," he said quietly.

"I wouldn't want to be a bother," Castiel said, pulling the phone's receiver as he did.

"It wouldn't be trouble," Dean said. "Come on."

Castiel hesitated before politely saying goodbye into his phone. Dean led the way as they jogged through the rain. He was a little surprised when Sam followed Amelia into the back seat, leaving Castiel to sit next to him. Amelia gave Dean her address as Dean started the car, thanking him again, quickly turning back to Sam and continuing their conversation. Dean and Castiel sat quietly for a moment, before Castiel turned to Dean.

"We never finished our conversation," Castiel said quietly to Dean.

"About what?"

"You said you didn't like Shakespeare."

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Never got it, I guess."

Castiel turned back to the window, not responding. Amelia laughed at something Sam said.

"Why do you like it so much?" Dean asked.

Castiel stared out the window for a moment, and Dean wondered if he'd heard him. "Because of the stories. I love the characters," Castiel answered quietly. "And… because there are parts of the plays, little stretches of verse, that feel like they can hold the whole world in them, if you look hard enough."

Dean opened his mouth, unsure of what to say back. "Left here," Amelia said, unaware of their conversation. Dean turned the wheel, quickly scanning Castiel, who continued to stare at the falling rain as the world blurred by.

Amelia's house pulled up, and she quickly got out, giving them a quick goodbye and a final thank you, reminding Sam to meet her before their next class together. "I live nearby," Castiel said, giving directions to Dean. They drove together quietly, Sam maintaining polite conversation with Castiel as they drove.

"Thank you for the ride," he said politely, glancing at Sam before fixing his eyes on Dean. Dean swallowed, throat suddenly uncomfortably dry. Castiel's glance felt like it hit the nerve his earlier words had awoken, and Dean thought he saw beneath those eyes layers of complicated, mixed up feelings, that, against Dean's character and better judgement, he wanted to unpack, spurring a sudden drop in his stomach and his neck to break out into a sudden warmth. His confusion was cut short when Castiel nimbly stepped from the car, walking quickly to his door.

* * *

Dean shifted in his sleep.

He was under the bright light again, eyes staring at him. He recognized Sam, watching him from the shadows, Balthazar, Charlie and Ash. They all looked disappointed, bored. A hand gently touched his shoulder, and Dean could feel a particular set of eyes watching him, close and unblinking.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a slow day, so Bobby sent Dean home from the shop at lunch. Feeling like treating himself, Dean decided to wait on lunch and stopped off at his favourite record store, in search of old favourites. His father had always been a vinyl fan, and Dean had been raised to love the sound of the needle hitting the record, the hiss and squeak of the grooves and scratches. He'd never really gotten used to CDs, and seriously considered disowning Sam when he'd suggested putting an iPod hook-up in the car. There were some things you just couldn't improve upon.

The bell rung softly over his head, and Dean nodded at the owner. He shuffled through stacks of new records, looking for something that might grab his interest. Absorbed in his search, he doesn't notice Castiel approaching him.

"Raising the Fawn is pretty good," his gruff voice making Dean jump. "They have some good songs."

"You need a fucking bell or something," Dean muttered, taking a half-step back.

"So I've been told."

Castiel turned towards the records, flipping through them. Dean stood next to him. "I've never seen you here before," Dean said, uncertain. He was usually better at small talk, but Castiel seemed to make everything a little more awkward.

"I order things online a lot," Castiel responded. "I have specific tastes."

_Yeah, I bet_, Dean thought. He saw a record pass in front of his eyes and come to rest in front of him.

"I'll refund you if you don't like it," Castiel said, turning back to the records.

"You're so sure?"

Castiel looked at Dean, almost smiling, before sidestepping down the walkway, flipping through records as he went. Dean turned back to the records in front of him, trying not to feel the nagging presence of Castiel. He'd never felt so… _awkward_ around another person before, skin prickling, his stomach feeling like it had disappeared from his insides. He felt clammed up with words. Dean looked down the aisle, Castiel's fingers tripping records forward, his face intent. Trying not to be creepy, Dean turned back to the albums be was vacantly flipping through. His hands stopped short, the cover of a record peeking up at him, his wandering thoughts gone.

"_No fucking way_," he breathed.

He pulled it out, his heart racing, smile curling his lips.

"No _fucking_ way."

Flipping the cover over, his eyes devoured the record. _Live at Massey Hall_. Shit. He almost sent a text to Sam, he was so goddamn excited. He looked up to see Castiel looking at him, his head cocked slightly to the side, fighting a grin.

"Found something?"

"Uh, yeah. Just uh, been looking for this," Dean said, feeling a little embarrassed.

Castiel stepped forward, taking the record from Dean's hand, his fingers brushing against Dean's, setting his skin to crawl and his jaw to clench. "Hmm," said Castiel. "Perhaps there's some hope for you yet." It almost could've been flirting, had Castiel not deadpanned the comment, his eyebrows raised as he gazed down at the album. Dean swallowed, ignoring the cool sweat breaking out across his back.

* * *

"Ketchup?" Castiel said, holding out his hand.

Dean slid the old fashioned bottle over to him, shoving another handful of French fries into his mouth. Castiel and he had begun a conversation at the record store, which had led to Castiel suggesting they grab something to eat. Dean had relented, and was surprised when Castiel had led him to one of his favourite diners. He was even more surprised when the waitress had come up to their booth, and asked them both if they wanted their usual's.

"Thanks," Castiel said, bringing Dean back to the present. "How have rehearsals been?"

Dean shrugged. "So far, so good. I just try to keep myself out of trouble."

"I'm sure you're fine."

Castiel's face remained composed as the talked to Dean, his gravelly voice calm and even. Dean found himself wishing he'd show more emotion, so he could get a read on the other man. He pushed away those thoughts, trying to swallow them down with another bite of red meat.

"I dunno. Sammy was always the actor. He was in this show once, _Our Town_. He was really good." He felt himself blush. He usually didn't blab so much about his little brother. Castiel, however, chewed his burger impassively.

"You say that like you have no skill, Dean."

Dean shrugged. "It's not hard to memorize things. And I'm pretty good at making people believe me. You get used to pretending."

His stomach dropped. Why would he say something like that?

"You've had to do a lot of pretending?" Castiel asked it like someone would ask for the time.

Dean shrugged, wanting the subject to change. "Here and there. Also, there was no exam in high school."

Castiel smiled. "That's why I took it too."

"I somehow doubt that," Dean said, laughing.

Dunking a fry into the pile of ketchup on his plate, Castiel smiled slightly. "Maybe it was because I was a nerd in high school." He plunked the fry into his mouth, chewing. "I was never much for science or math, which didn't leave many options."

"Then why stick with it," Dean asked.

Castiel fiddled a fry as he thought, Dean watching the other man's hands. He resisted the urge to move, the silence making him anxious.

"You don't get it," Castiel said. "Until you do a play, and it's so good, and everything lines up the way it's supposed to, in spite of everything, and you're standing backstage, the moment before the bows, and you're just…" Castiel exhaled, leaning back in his seat, a wide grin cracking his face. "You can't speak. You can't think. You're whole body's shaking and humming. There's nothing else like it."

"Sex," Dean said, glad that Castiel's laughter hid the sound of Dean choking on his food.

"Nah. This is better than sex," Castiel said, smiling at Dean's suspicious eyebrow.

"So when did you pop your theatre cherry?" asked Dean, jokingly.

Castiel smiled, almost like Dean had asked when he'd _actually_ popped his cherry. "I was fourteen."

"A little young, don't you think?"

Castiel kicked Dean under the table, and Dean felt his skin prickle in response.

"It was _Saint Joan_ by Bernard Shaw. I can't even remember what made it so special, but afterwards I felt like I couldn't sit still. I saw it three more times before it closed." Castiel's eyes glazed over, remembering. "Then in high school, we did a production of _Noises Off_. It's a comedy about a play within a play. I was Tim. The second to last night, we did the show, and we got that feeling," Castiel looked down at his hands, almost blushing. Dean forced himself to lean back slightly. "It was perfect." He shrugged, looking at Dean. "I was hooked."

"First hit is free," Dean said, wiping his hands on his napkin. Castiel chuckled quietly.

"Yeah, it's especially hard when it turns out you're not a very good actor." Castiel smiled. "So you end up backstage, making it happen for everyone else."

"Can I get you fellows anything else?" the waitress appeared from nowhere.

"Shit," said Castiel, looking at his watch. "I'm late for office hours. Just the bill please," he said, reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet.

"Sorry to eat and run," Castiel said as the waitress walked away.

"Don't worry about it," Dean said. "I didn't realize it was so late."

They quickly paid, and stepped out into the bright afternoon light. "See you at rehearsal," Castiel said somewhat, in Dean's opinion, unceremoniously.

"Yeah, see you."

He watched Castiel walk away, heading towards a bus stop. Dean turned the opposite direction, walking towards his car. He felt the copies of Neil Young and Raising the Fawn sway slightly in the plastic bag he carried, and wondered about whether or not it was possible he'd gotten food poisoning, his stomach rolling with every step.

* * *

"What're you smiling about," Dean asked Sam later that same evening.

His younger brother looked up from the computer screen. "What? Nothing. Just chatting with Amelia."

Dean stood, and went to hover over Sam's shoulder. Sam closed the window he had been looking at.

"So are you two…" Dean raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly, trying to look supportive. "You know. Cause she's pretty cute."

Sam shifted, not making eye contact. "No, Dean. We're just friends."

Dean shrugged, walking towards their kitchen. "Just friends. Does she know that?"

"Obviously, Dean. Neither of us want to be seeing anyone right now."

"So you've talked about it," Dean said, snapping around, a victorious smile catching his face.

Sam sighed, blushing. "Yes, we _both_ mentioned we don't want to be dating. No, we haven't talked about…"

Dean felt a stab of guilt shock through him. How could he have been so insensitive, when he had been so careful for two years….

"Shit. Goddamn, Sam, I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"I'm really sorry…"

"No, really. Let's not…"

"I've had a really weird day…"

"I sometimes forget too."

Dean felt his heart break for his brother, not like it had when he'd first been called to the hospital, the car his brother was in having crashed. His brother had been picked up by his girlfriend, Jess. They were going to hang out with some friends. The phone had rung, waking him up. All he'd heard was that his brother had been in an accident before he'd asked which hospital, and hung up. He remembered driving too fast, his heart beating even faster, running into emergency, only to be told that the accident had killed the passenger. The walls fell away, and he'd crumbled to the ground. It took him a while to realize that they were asking about his parents.

"Mom's dead," he said. "Dad's… it's just me."

"We need you to fill out some forms before we can release your sister."

Dean looked up at them. "Sister?"

The doctor stared at him. "Yes. Jess was in the passenger seat, a young man was driving. He's in intensive care…."

Jess had had a glass of something to drink, and Sam had offered to drive her home. The roads had been icy, however, and they slid into a ditch, flipping the car. When Sam woke up, it was Dean who told him what had happened to Jess.

Dean still regretted having to be the one to tell Sam about Jess, almost as much as he regretted the relief he'd felt when he heard that it was Jess that was dead, not Sam.

"It's fine," Sam said again. He faked a smile at Dean. "Anyway, why are you so interested in my love life all of a sudden? Things going a little slow for you?"

He forced a laugh, trying to break the tension. "You know me, Sam. Always tryin' to pick up."

"Any hot dates I should know about?"

Castiel's face came to mind, but Dean didn't understand why. "Nah. Too busy keepin' you outta trouble." He punched Sam's shoulder, pleased he could still make same cringe, despite the fact that Sam was now much taller than Dean. Sam smiled, genuinely this time, and turned back to his computer. Dean cleaned the kitchen, suddenly feeling the need to be alone.

* * *

It turned out Thursday was pub night.

Dean drove the group over to Balthazar's favourite pub, a lot dingier and, frankly, Dean-like than Dean would have guessed. It was dark and smoky, despite the abundance of lights and the no smoking signs hanging everywhere. No one seemed to mind the presence of the underage actors, who seemed to understand that so long as they didn't ask for alcohol, they'd be fine. Dean followed Amelia over to a group of tables, where Castiel, Ash, and Charlie already sat.

"What're you doing here?" Dean asked, finding himself sitting next to Castiel.

"Thursday is pub night," Castiel replied evenly, taking a sip of his amber drink.

The bar soon become noisy, as the cast and crew socialized loudly to each other, relaying horror stories and triumphs from their pasts. Dean was surprised when Sam was able to participate, telling a funny story about high school theatre that had the table laughing. The unfamiliarity of it shocked Dean, and he found himself staying quiet when usually he would be the life of the party. Dean and Castiel exchanged infrequent words, instead listening to the others. He happened to overhear Charlie complaining to Jo, her voice rising during one of the lulls and reaching across the table to where Dean sat.

"We need a volunteer or something. We're not going to get the set done on time at this rate."

"What do you need?" Dean asked.

Charlie glared up at him, her face clearly saying _none of your business_. "The flats 'n' risers for the show need to be built and painted," Ash said, nodding into his phone.

"What, like carpentry stuff?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, stuff," Charlie snapped back.

Dean shrugged. "I could help out," he said. "I work as a mechanic, and I basically helped by uncle build his new garage. I could lend a hand."

Charlie blinked, her face unreadable. "You think you could be helpful?"

"Yeah, Dean's great," Sam said, unexpectedly leaning into the conversation. "Our landlord sometimes gets Dean to fix thing around the building."

Ash smiled broadly. "Right on! That's great, ain't it, Charlie?"

Dean thought he heard Charlie mutter something about babysitting to Jo, but he ignored it.

"It was nice of you to offer to help," Castiel said quietly, his voice betraying the thank you Charlie hadn't said.

"I like to be helpful. Besides, I'm better at building shit than acting."

"Don't cut yourself so short," Castiel said, trying to catch the waitress's eye. When she came by, Dean ordered another drink as well, suddenly self-conscious. "It will be nice to have a new face in the crowd, anyway," Castiel said as the waitress walked away.

"What do you mean?"

"I help with scenic painting."

Dean chuckled, "Seriously Castiel, do you ever stop doing theatre?"

Castiel smiled at Dead. "I like to be helpful."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Trying something new with this chapter, and have included other POVs. Also, if you or someone you know is interested in Beta reading, send me a PM. So far, everything has been pretty draft oriented (it's a story about theatre; I'm work shopping it :P )**

**Reviews are welcome as always.**

**Warning: More swearing than usual in this one. The techies are hanging out together, what do you expect?**

* * *

"What're your notes like from last class?" Amelia asked, staring into her computer.

"Shitty," Sam said. "Monday morning didn't agree with me."

They were studying for their upcoming theatre quiz, studying while, admittedly, eating pizza and listening to music. Something Dean had brought home that actually wasn't half bad.

Amelia pouted. "Do you think it was important?" she asked, a smile creeping to her face.

"It's probably going to be, like, ninety percent of the test knowing your luck," Sam grinned, ducking the pillow thrown at his head.

"Wanna run lines with me later?" she asked, picking up another slice of pizza.

"Yeah. Can you help me with my monologues?"

"Sure. Will you be Laertes for me?"

Sam nodded, flipping through a book. He felt something nudge against his leg, and looked up at Amelia, who had a goofy smile on her face.

"Can we take a break?" she asked. "I really can't stand another minute of this."

Sam smiled, he always smiled when Amelia was around. "God, I thought you'd never ask," he said, setting aside his homework. "How was Greg's party?"

Amelia rolled her eyes. "How'd you think? I'm pretty sure he only invited me because his roommate wants to bang me."

"What a douchebag," Sam said, feeling an angry flush come to his face. He felt protective of Amelia. She understood what it was like to not want to be dating someone, even if she'd never explained why.

"You need to start coming out more. I need you to buffer for me," she said.

"Or you could just hermit up like me," Sam joked.

"Yeah right. You're not a hermit. You're the lead in the show."

"You didn't do so bad yourself," said Sam. "Ophelia's an awesome part."

Amelia shrugged. "I don't know. It's amazing, don't get me wrong, but… I dunno. I see you and everyone else, and I feel like I'm miles behind."

"What? Amelia, you're amazing!" She was, in Sam's opinion. He loved watching her act, in rehearsal and in class. She was so natural; he'd never seen her strain herself, forcing a character out like some of their classmates. She could turn around and become someone new, say a line in a way that made you see all of the subtext and nuances at once. He admired her as another actor, he reminded himself when these thoughts came to mind.

"I'm so lost with her right now," Amelia said. "I don't know. I just don't want her to be weak, you know. Or like, weak but in a way that you pity her. I'd just hate to be one of those actresses who just annoys you."

"You'll be fine," Sam said, placing a reassuring hand on her shin, just below her knee. He fought back the urge to rub her leg, and for a moment he thought he saw something flash across her face, something recognisable… But he took his hand away before it progressed, and her face now had a shy, thankful smile on it.

"Thanks Sam," she said. "I'll be better if you run lines with me." She kicked the side of his leg for emphasis. He laughed, and they pulled out their scripts, taking turns memorizing lines and trading gossip, sitting on the floor, their legs a hair's breadth apart, Sam trying not to be acutely aware of this fact.

"I hope all will be well. We must be patient: but I cannot choose but weep, to think they should lay him i' the cold ground. My brother shall know of it: and so I thank you for your good counsel. Come, my coach! Good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies; good night, good night."

Amelia pause, taking a breath, and Sam saw that she was shaking a little.

"Amelia?" he said quietly.

Her eyes snapped up to him. "Sorry," she quickly said. "Like I said, I get… lost."

"Yeah, of course," Sam said, stumbling for words. "Are you… okay?"

"Yeah," she said, checking her phone. "I should go. I don't want to miss the last bus."

They packed up, making small talk to ease the tension. At the door, however, Amelia turned back to face Sam.

"I had a boyfriend," she said, after their goodbye. "He joined the army. He, um… he didn't come back. Just though," her eyes came up from the ground and looked at him, big and brown, "just thought you should know." She turned back, walking down the hallway before he had a chance to say anything. His shock grounded him to his spot, and he stood there, door open, long after she'd disappeared.

And all at once, Sam Winchester realized he was in love again.

* * *

They were standing outside after rehearsal, Sam talking to Amelia while Dean talked to Jo. She was pretty cool, Dean discovered, having the same taste in music and cars. He'd liked her the moment she'd seen his car, recognizing the make and year immediately. They'd been becoming friendly since then, Dean usually helping her clean up after the rehearsals he attended while Sam visited.

Dean attempted to keep his eyes trained on Jo, and not scan for Castiel's familiar shape headed towards or from the building. The man had the habit of working late in his department office, and Dean would often, when they would run into each other after rehearsals, offer Castiel a ride home. He was in the middle of telling her a story when he reached for his phone.

"Goddamn," he said.

"What?" Jo asked.

"I forgot my bag in the theatre." Balthazar had been able to book them a night in the university's theatre so they could more accurately block some of the trickier bits and the fight at the end of the play. Dean could picture the chair his backpack was sitting on, where he'd hidden to practice lines when he hadn't been needed.

Jo laughed, and then sighed dramatically. "Here," she handed him a set of keys. "This one opens the room. My ride isn't going anywhere fast." She rolled her eyes at the group nearby. "_Actors_," she groaned.

Dean laughed, and took the keys, walking through the darkened hallways until he reached the door. He stopped short of opening it. Muffled sound trickled out from behind the door. Slowly, Dean unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Someone was sitting in the first row, staring into the gloom of the empty theatre, the ghost light the only illumination. From the speakers came a chorus of unaccompanied voices, drifting through the air as if the choir were singing invisible in front of him. Whoever was with Dean did not notice his entrance; they were so entranced with the music. As his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, Dean made out the edge of a pale face, a tan trench coat and dark, messy hair. Castiel sat, head tilted slightly back as he slouched into the chair. Dean stood frozen, unsure of whether or not to make himself known. Slowly, he walked down towards the front where his bag laid waiting for him.

Dean was now only a row or two back from where Castiel sat, and still the other man had not noticed his presence. Dean bent down to pick up the bag, and then froze. Castiel, following the rise of the music, had lifted his hand just enough to catch Dean's eye. In the light, Castiel's face glimmered with what Dean realized to be tears, a smile softening Castiel's face, making Dean realize how rarely he had seen Castiel genuinely smile. Dean's hand began to shake, panic rising like bile in his throat. He grabbed his bag, and as slowly and quietly as he was able to, walked back up the aisle, afraid to disturb Castiel.

The door clicked shut behind him, and he forced himself to breathe carefully, willing himself calm.

* * *

In the theatre, Castiel opened his eyes. His favourite part of the song slowing. The thrills along his spine made him shiver, his skin humming in the increasingly familiar way. Shuddering, he reminded himself to breathe. He forced himself to stay quiet, to not say the words that threatened to bubble from his lips because, even in the empty and dark theatre, surrounded only by ghosts and his thoughts, it would become too real.

* * *

Dean tried not to notice the obvious absence of Castiel that Thursday. Instead, he talked to Jo, joked with Ash, and teased Sam. But the chair beside him stayed empty, and Dean couldn't help feeling his balance tilting him towards the space where Castiel was supposed to be, the memory of ghostly voices pulling Dean in.

* * *

It was raining when Dean pulled up to the address Ash had given him. He was in the industrial part of town, where Ash apparently kept a workshop. Running up to the door, he knocked, seeing Jo standing just inside the door.

"Hey," she said. "Just checking to see if you guys have everything you need. I'm scouting props today." She handed Dean a cup of coffee. "Didn't know what you take. There's cream and sugar by the fridge. I wouldn't touch anything else in there, though. It's pretty scary.

"Good to know. Thanks."

Jo directed Dean towards the back door, and left through the front. Dean cautiously entered, greeted by the sound of a saw starting up.

"Told you it was fine," Charlie said as a band saw slowed to a stop. She looked up at Dean. "Nice to see you finally show up."

"Ah come on, Charlie. Lay off the guy. He's the only person out of the whole cast who offered to help," Ash tilted a pair of safety glasses to the top of his head.

Charlie bit the inside of her mouth. "Fine. Let's just get started then." She led Dean over to a scaled drawing of the stage, showing him the flats that needed to be built. Dean quickly told her how he understood things, and when Charlie confirmed that he was correct and told him his first job, he got to work, working with Charlie as they cut wood to length. Ash went to the front room to work on some sound cues for the show. Dean and Charlie, despite their hostility, worked well together, and as the day progressed, they began to exchange small talk. Dean even managed to get Charlie to laugh at one of his stories. When Ash returned, pizza in hand, for lunch, Dean could hardly believe the morning had passed so well.

"Okay," Charlie said, cheese dripping from her mouth. "Marry, fuck, kill."

Ash smiled, "Okay. Charlie, you first."

Charlie smiled, "Ash: Ohura, Dianna Troy, or Seven of Nine."

"You're evil, you know that?" Ash said. Charlie smiled. "Marry Ohura, fuck Seven, and kill Dianna. Sorry Dianna," he added grabbing another slice. "Charlie: Scarlette Johanson as Black Widow, Emma Watson as Hermione Granger, and Liv Tyler as Arwen."

Charlie groaned. "Why would you do this to me?" She said. "Marry Hermione, fuck Arwen, and kill Black Widow. No wait – marry Arwen, fuck Black Widow…" she screamed, throwing her hands up in the air. "You're an asshole, you know that, Ash?"

"Yeah, that's not fair at all," Dean said, carefully looking at Charlie. She noticed, and nervously scratched at her knee.

"Uh yeah. Dean, I'm sort of…"

"A lady killer," said Ash through a mouth of pizza. "Also a fan-fucking-tastic wingman."

Charlie beamed, clearly proud. "You only say that cause you're so shit at it."

Ash shrugged. "My talents lie elsewhere."

"Speaking of which, how goes the mixing?"

"Pretty good. Got the entire first half done, just waiting to hear back from Balthazar to find out if they're good enough."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "You know they will be."

Ash threw a green pepper at Charlie's head, clearly pleased.

"So Dean, what made you audition, since you're clearly not an actor."

Dean tensed, thinking back to the read through. "That bad, huh?"

"Nah, you're fine. You're just not a dipshit like the others," Charlie said. "Well, that's not entirely fair. You're not a dipshit like _some_ of the others."

"That bad, huh?"

Ash and Charlie both groaned.

"You have _no_ idea."

"Most are fine," Ash said. "Know their cues, know their lines."

"Then there are the ones that, the moment tech week hits, you have to babysit them," Charlie finished. "Forget to turn off their mics when they go to the bathroom, wandering the stage looking for their light."

"'Lose' their props, when they were on the goddamned _prop table_ the whole time," Jo said, coming into the room, carrying bags. Castiel followed, Dean's stomach dropping at the sight of him. "Brought you treats," Jo smiled, dropping a bag in the middle of the table the group sat at. Ash and Charlie quickly tore into it, pulling out bags of chips, candy, and cookies. "They live off of simple sugars and saturated fat," Jo said to Dean. "Their bodies are not like human bodies."

"You bought us toys," Charlie smiled, holding up a balsawood plane kit from a dollar store.

"I knew my audience. Come help us carry in the paint."

"Hello Dean," Castiel greeted as they followed Jo outside.

"Hey. We missed you at pub night," Dean said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Castiel stared at Dean. "That's nice of you to say."

"Yeah Cas," Charlie said, stepping to be in between Dean and Castiel. "We really missed you." She looked at Dean as they approached the car, smiling at him in a strange way.

They carried more supplies into the workshop, Jo having to run away to do more work for the show. Castiel stayed behind, working at creating some of the smaller props used in the play as Dean and Charlie set to work constructing the flats. Ash grabbed a bag of Doritos and went back to the front room. At three-thirty, Charlie called a break, grabbing the plane kit and immediately beginning work on it.

"Go get Cas to come and take a break. He's sniffing too much glue over there," she said to Dean. Castiel sat with his back to them, headphones underneath big sound blocking ear protection. Dean lightly tapped him on the shoulder, too lightly, because Castiel didn't react. He tapped harder, causing Castiel to jump, pulling the ear protection from his head.

"Sorry," Dean said. "We're taking a break if you…"

"That sounds good."

Dean looked at Castiel's project, several swords that were in various stages of being taken apart and put back together.

"The handles were loose," Castiel said, following Dean's gaze. "And some of them were too flamboyant from the last time they were used."

"Where'd you learn to do this?" Dean asked.

"I used to do a lot of work in props, before switching to theatre studies," Castiel said, picking up a sword. "Armour was something I was sort of good at." He looked at Dean, smiling. "Balthazar wanted you in a breastplate…."

He rummaged through the armour pieces surrounding him, finally coming up with a breastplate that had begun to turn black with age. Castiel held it out to Dean. "Hold it," he said.

Dean took the armour, surprised by how light it was. "Fibreglass," Castiel said, "from when I used to build armour for fun. Should fit you okay…" Castiel slid off his stool, and helped Dean put on the armour, checking the straps. "Should be fine," he murmured, taking a marker from the table, making marks on the straps. "I'll get you new ties, and make the arms a little bigger for you. You have bigger arms than the guy I made this for," he said absently, marking underneath Dean's raised arm. "That should be more comfortable." He took the armor off of Dean, and turned back to the table, writing a quick note to himself as Dean tried to still his nerves.

"Cas, are you coming or what?" Charlie called from across the room. "I'm going to eat all of the gummy worms if you don't hurry up!"

Castiel smiled, and turned back. "We should go over. Jo got the sour kind."

They walked next to each other towards the front room where Charlie had disappeared to. "So, do you go by Cas or Castiel?"

"Either, really," Castiel shrugged.

"Well, what do you prefer?"

He looked sideways at Dean, pausing. "My friends usually call me Cas," he said.

Dean tried not to return the other man's gaze, feeling his stomach rise to his throat. "So, can I call you Cas, then?"

There was a beat, and then Castiel started laughing. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

Castiel sped up a little, stepping ahead of Dean into the front room. Dean felt oddly relieved, for some reason. He'd been wondered if Castiel… Cas was a friend. This feeling was mixed with something else, however. Disappointment? To be just a friend….

He heard Cas laugh at a joke Charlie made, his head tipped back. He looked at Dean as Cas wiped away a tear, and Dean felt himself smiling too, his throat tightening. The world felt like it was away, fraying at the edges until there was nothing except Dean, staring at Cas, and a feeling threatening to overwhelm him.

"Save some for me," Dean said to Ash, grabbing the bag of chips from his hand, taking the biggest handful he could and shoving it into his mouth, swallowing his thoughts and emotions with the chips, bite after bite, until there was nothing left.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**

**Wow! So that was a long hiatus! Sorry everyone - I was finishing up school, and then moving back home for the summer. I should be much better at posting now that I have a month of unemployment to look forward to :\**

**As always, reviews are welcome and make my heart sing happy, happy songs that cause little Disney birds to fly around me!**

**Enjoy!**

****Note that the rating has gone up... three guesses why.**

* * *

"What's up with you?" Sam asked when they were in the car. Amelia was chatting with Jo in the back seat as they drove to the pub. Rehearsal had ended early, and most of the other actors had left for the pub while Dean had stayed to help clean up, as usual. However, tonight he'd been dragging his feet.

"Nothing," said Dean, ignoring the empty space where his stomach should be. He wasn't going to talk about his feelings… what feelings? He wasn't doing _this, _whatever _this_ was, with Sam, especially with Amelia and Jo in the backseat, especially when he couldn't admit it to himself…. Not that there was anything to admit.

Sam pursed his lips, wishing he could force Dean to talk about whatever it was that was making him cast nervous glances over his shoulder and space out whenever someone wasn't directly talking to him. "You're going the speed limit, Dean," Sam said, concern dripping from his voice.

Dean stared out the window, clenching his jaw, ignoring Sam. They pulled up to the bar, and piled out, Dean once again bringing up the rear. The bar was more crowded than usual, and Dean had to work to keep up with Sammy. They walked to their familiar group of tables, voices raised against the noise, Dean recognizing Cas's mess of dark hair immediately. A chair was waiting empty next to Cas. Dean slid in, smiling when he saw Cas smile at him. Cas's lips moved, but Dean couldn't hear him speak. He shook his head, and Cas frowned, leaning in to talk directly into Dean's ear.

"How was rehearsal?" Cas shouted over the noise, his breath tickling Dean's neck. Dean tried to hide his shiver, and just nodded in response. Cas smiled, and gestured that he was going to get a drink. Dean stood, knowing he couldn't wait for a waitress to come round. Dean followed Cas to the bar where Balthazar stood with some of the other actors. They were laughing, and ordering drinks. Balthazar leaned into Cas and shouted something in his ear. Cas laughed uncomfortably, his eyes snapping to Dean's. Shaking his head, Cas reached out to Dean and pushed him towards their director.

"Help me convince Cassie to have a shot with us," Balthazar said into Dean's ear. Dean looked at Cas, who clearly knew what Balthazar was saying to Dean. Fingers itching, Dean grabbed Cas's arm, pulling him closer so he could speak. "What's the trouble?" Dean asked, pulling back to stare into Cas's face. The bodies crowding everywhere left little room for their group, and Dean found himself closer to Cas than he wanted to be. Cas's mouth was drawn into a tight line across his face, and his eyes flickered over Dean's shoulder. "Live a little," Dean said, not knowing if Cas could hear him over the music and people. But a little smile crossed his face, and he stepped towards Balthazar at the bar, pulling Dean with him.

It turned out that "a shot" meant three, and soon Dean and Cas were well on their ways to being drunk.

"Horatio is representative of the audience," Cas shouted into Dean's ear. "Hamlet's only confidants are us and Horatio. We feel for Hamlet what Horatio feels…."

"Do you ever stop working?" Dean said into Cas's ear.

Cas smiled, and downed what was left of his beer. They had found a small booth close to their usual spot, hidden behind a group of people, standing between them and their group.

"Why would I want to stop?" Cas said, smiling at Dean. Dean felt himself smiling back, his stomach aching like he'd been laughing too much. Had he? They'd been talking all night, cast and crew popping by then running off. Suddenly, the crowd parted and Jo, Charlie, and Ash stepped up to their table, bringing with them more beer.

"Shove a bum," Jo said, squeezing up next to Cas, pushing the two men further into the corner. Cas started to fall into Dean, his hand flying out to steady himself, landing on Dean's leg. Dean freezes, his breath caught in his throat. Cas doesn't seem to notice, swaying slightly as Charlie starts talking to him. The alcohol and the closeness of Cas send Dean's head spinning. The hand doesn't move, there's nowhere for it to move to, it feels, the cramped booth suddenly overflowing. Dean tries to follow the conversation, something about a show they had all done together in the past, when Dean feels Cas's hand relax against his leg, no longer holding up the other man. He feels Cas's thumb move slightly, rubbing soft circles against Dean's leg. Dean releases a shaky breath, trying to figure out what's happening as his mind rushes inside him. Suddenly, he sees Cas freeze, feels his hand halt. Cas looks sidelong at Dean, as if realizes what he'd been doing for the first time. He pulls his hand away slowly, and mumbles something to Jo, who scoots to let him leave the booth.

Dean watched Cas weave his way through the crowd, fighting back his shock and the rising embarrassment in his stomach. Tapping Jo's shoulder, he points in the direction of the bathrooms, murmuring some unintelligible apology. She barely notices, too focused on the conversation to care. Standing causes Dean to realize how drunk he actually is, the room suddenly dropping around him as he pushes through the crowd, his eyes scanning for Cas. He sees the back of his head and the tan of his coat as it disappears through the door. Bodies are pressed against him as he pushes towards the door, claustrophobia constraining his breath. He needs to be outside, where there's air and room and…

Cas leans against the wall, a group of smokers standing nearby. He looks up when Dean spies him, a cigarette of his own held almost to his lips.

"Cas," Dean says, stumbling toward him. Cas doesn't say anything, just watches until Dean is standing in front of him. Drunk as Dean is, he can tell that Cas is also far gone, swaying, eyes half hooded as he finally draws the cigarette to his lips and takes a drag. Dean watches, licking his suddenly dry lips.

"Do you smoke?" Cas asks.

"Not since high school," Dean admits, watching the smoke curl from Cas's mouth.

Cas half smiles, and holds up the burning cigarette to Dean. He finds it in his fingers, then in his mouth, nicotine hitting his lungs at the same moment he realizes his lips are touching where Cas's were a minute ago. He groans.

"Shit," he says, or maybe it's Cas, and he takes another long drag before passing it back to Cas.

"I didn't know you smoked," Dean says as his fingers tangle with Cas's as the cigarette passes between hands, a thrill going through Dean as their skin brushes.

"Only when I'm drunk," Cas replies, pulling smoke into his lungs. Dean can't take his eyes of Cas's mouth, the way it's drawing and releasing the smoke. He doesn't even think to stop the thoughts streaming through his head, to check himself before licking his lips again. He feels Cas put the cigarette back into his hand, and diligently brings it to his mouth. It's nearly done, and Cas is lighting another. Dropping the spent one to the ground, Dean toes the flame out. Dean chuckles, and he hears Cas chuckle too. He's staring at their feet, wondering how they got so close, when a sigh from Cas brings his eyes back up to the other man's face. The cigarette dangles from his lips, head tilted back slightly as he stares at Dean, his eyes crinkling like he's about to smile. _Beautiful_, Dean thinks, and doesn't even try to stop the thought from swimming through his mind.

He watches Cas pluck the cigarette from his mouth, hand disappear from his vision, the cigarette pushing its way back into Dean's hand. "What're you smiling at?" Cas asks, readjusting his back against the wall.

Dean laughs, raising the cigarette level with his lips, but not to them. What is he smiling at? "You," he says. "You're drunk."

"I very much might be, Dean Winchester."

Dean laughs again, and lowers the cigarette to Cas's hand, and feels Cas's fingers tangle with his again, taking the cigarette between his fingers, but not drawing his hand away. Dean's breath catches, but Cas is smiling at him in this strange way, and Dean can feel Cas's thumb beginning to smooth slow circles into Dean's hand like he had with Dean's leg earlier… how long ago was that? He can distantly hear the laughter of the other smokers. They turn their heads toward the sound. Turning back to Cas, he watches the other man, mouth slightly open, brows furrowed as he considers the group. Cas's free hand takes the cigarette, allowing their joined hands to stay together.

Dean feels panic wash through him. What is he doing? Holding _hands_? With Cas? Swaying together, drunk out of their minds, and holding _hands_. He stumbles forward into Cas, his hand suddenly free as Cas catches him, large, strong hand suddenly at his side as Dean's hand lands on Cas's shoulder.

"You might be drunk too," Cas laughs, checking Dean's face to see if he's okay. And just as suddenly as the fear came, it drains out of him. Dean can feel himself staring, and he sees Cas take a deep breath and swallow. "Are… are you okay?" Cas asks, leaning forward, eyes trained on Dean's. Dean feels himself pull on Cas's shoulder, and Cas respond, moving closer. It's not close enough, and Dean pulls again, and again.

"Dean…"

They're moving backwards, Dean realizes, he's pulling Cas backwards, and they're stumbling along the wall, smokers forgotten, and then the wall's not there, they're rounding a corner, and a wall is pressed against Dean's back, and Cas is muttering, "Shit… shit…" and Dean's pulled him close, so very close, and Cas's hands haven't stopped rubbing circles and the world is spinning and….

Cas's mouth waits, his breath heating Dean's lips, frozen right in front of Dean. Dean looks for Cas's eyes, but they're closed, waiting, as their breathing thunders around them. Dean's eyes snap shut, knowing he can't close the distance, that it's a step that he can't do, because he's afraid, under the adrenaline and beer, so afraid that even without inhabitations he can't do what he's been thinking about… what's gone through his… that he can't even break down that last wall. It's killing him, and he wants Cas to know, _wills_ Cas to know that he needs help, that Cas has to start this or else it will never happen, and right now, that's almost as scary as Cas himself.

Dean feels Cas pull away, leaving cold air in its place. Dean doesn't move, or open his eyes. He's talking himself away from the wall, away from his disappointment, when he feels a hand rise up to the side of his face. Dean freezes, and a forehead presses against his own.

"Shit," Cas says.

Lips against his mouth, teeth pulling at that mouth, tongue soothing where teeth bite too hard. Dean's hands are in Cas's hair, pulling the mouth closer to Dean's. He grunts in response to Cas's moan. His mind becomes aware that there is a whole Cas next to him, not just lips and hair, and he pulls Cas's body flush against his. His hand lands on Cas's lower back, between the trench coat and his shirt, sliding under the shirt to feel Cas's skin. Cas moan's again, pulling away from Dean's mouth, trailing kisses and licks down to his throat, to the place where his jaw curves by his ear, and sucks on the skin. Dean grunts, and feels his dick jump. He needs friction. Now. His hand flies down to Cas's ass, grabbing hold and guiding it so that their (Dean realizes, mutual) erections can grind against each other. Cas, sucking now on Dean's earlobe, is caught by surprise, and bites down, hard. Dean hisses, the pain unexpectedly sweet. Cas is still too far away, and bringing Cas's mouth to his again, Dean spins them around, pressing Cas's back to the wall.

Cas's hands are on either side of Dean's face, pulling Dean in for deeper and deeper kisses, a knee sliding between Dean's legs. Dean, for his part, is feeling every part of Cas, hands unable to stay at one place for very long. His hands ghost over the tent in Cas's pants, which makes Cas breath hitching in his throat. Dean's pressing his hand against Cas's warm stomach, and then lower, feeling how hard Cas is beneath his hand.

"Don't…"

The word comes strangled out of Cas's mouth, pressed against Dean's, who's hand flies away quickly. He's suddenly embarrassed, guilty, unable to look Cas in the eye.

"Sorry," Dean says, trying to untangle himself. "Sorry."

"Don't," Cas says again, not letting go of Dean. They tangle more and sway, hormones clouding their minds. "Don't, Dean. Wait. Stop – wait."

Cas's breath tickles against Dean's neck, and Dean can't help it if he collapses into Cas, feeling Cas's hands drop to his side as Cas crooks his head into Dean's shoulder. They're breathing heavily, leaning into each other. Dean feels limp, spent, his dick pounding so hard he wonders if Cas can feel him.

"Didn't… what I meant… Shit, Dean," he breaths into Dean's skin. He raises his hand, combing fingers through Dean's hair, comforting. "I meant…." Cas shakes his head, and raises his mouth to Dean's ear. "I'm sorry," Cas says.

"I'm sorry," Dean says. "Cas, I…"

"No," Cas says. They're silent, swaying, and Dean hears Cas swallow. "I meant… I was going to say…." Dean's holding his breath. He can feel Cas's hesitancy, a sudden shyness. Cas presses a kiss to Dean's neck. "Don't stop," Cas whispers into Dean's neck. "I don't want you to stop."

Dean brings Cas's lips to his, and they're kissing. Cas holds Dean steady against him, as Dean feels his hand trailing nervously down Cas's chest. Running his knuckles against the flat planes of Cas's hips and stomach, he feels Cas sigh into his mouth. Dean's shaking, breathing heavier than Cas, which part of him recognizes as funny. Then his fingers are undoing Cas's belt, the button, his zipper, and sliding into Cas's pants. Cas hums when Dean's hand slips around his dick, pausing to squeeze. Dean feels like he's floating above them, watching as his body kisses Cas with surprising gentleness, his hand beginning to pump Cas slowly. Sighing again, Cas leas back against the wall, his throat lying exposed to Dean as he floats above. Dean wants to kiss that neck, and he watches as his body does so. He can almost taste the sweat and salt of Cas's skin as he watches his body lick and kiss wet patches onto Cas's skin. "Dean," Cas moans, louder in his ear than it should be. "Dean." He watches Cas's hand come up to squeeze his body's biceps, his cheeks flushed. He watches Cas jerk, and still, breath coming out hard and shaky.

His hand suddenly wet, Dean looks down, and realizes Cas just came in his hand. Dean can feel the hand that he saw Cas place on his body's arm. Dean looks up, Cas staring at him, pupils blown and mouth slightly slack, eyebrows scrunched together.

"Dean?"

Cas pulls a tissue from his back pocket and presses it into Dean's hand.

"Where did you go?" Cas asks.

"Dean."

Dean shakes his head.

"Dean!"

It's Sam. Sam's calling for him. Dean feels light headed. Sam doesn't know where he is.

Dean looks at Cas, his shoulders slumped. His eyes flicker to the entrance of the alleyway they're standing in as Sam calls Dean's name again. Cas's hands drop to his sides when Dean pushes away from him. Dean cringes to see Cas's dick, quickly softening, exposed to the night air. He finds himself tucking Cas in, pulling up the man's pants, redoing the zipper and buckle as Cas watches him, unmoving, as if he's waking up from a dream. Dean turns away, but feels his wrist caught tightly. Cas turns him around, the sound of Sam talking to someone, not ten feet away, drifting to the alley. Dean only feels Cas squeeze once, and then let go.

"There you are," Sam says when Dean steps out from the alley. "What were you doing back there?"

"Taking a leak," Dean says, surprisingly normal. His chest constricts, knowing Cas can still hear them.

"Amelia was wondering if we could give her a ride home," Sam was saying.

"Okay," Dean fishes for the car keys. "You drive," because Dean doesn't think he can stand for very much longer.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:**

**WOW. HEY. **

**So that was a really long time posting. Sorry about that, moving home and re-organizing my life kept me from writing, and, well, this chapter was trickier to write. **

**Comment and criticize! **

* * *

Dean was sent home early. Bobby claimed that it was a slow day, and that Dean looked like he needed the time off, which truthfully, Dean did. Memories from the night before kept flashing through his mind, only adding to the painful hangover Dean had when he woke up. He'd vainly hoped as he'd fallen onto his bed that the events of last night would be forgotten, but waking up from a wet dream with Cas's name on his lips had dispelled that hope.

Despite showering for a second time that day, Dean couldn't wash the smell of Cas from of his skin, his taste off his lips. Cas's face as Dean drunkenly cleaned him up, the far away blankness, wouldn't leave him. Sam returned home from his classes, frowning at Dean's presence, but not asking about it, instead quietly going to his room and shutting the door. Dean welcomed Sam's silence. He closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would overtake him, but memories continued to plague him. Sam finally roused him for dinner. They ate in silence, Dean barely noticing the food he was eating.

Walking into rehearsal, Dean felt his stomach drop. Sitting next to Balthazar, Cas quietly flipped through his copy of the script. He'd forgotten that Cas had been scheduled to drop in for this rehearsal, the first run-though of the fifth act on the stage. Dean went to stand in a far corner, looking over lines he'd already memorized, his back to the group as the other actors stretched, laughed, and talked amongst themselves. Sam stood nearby, also apparently not feeling like socializing today.

"Sam!"

The brothers both turned their heads, looking to see Balthazar waving Sam over to talk. Dean's eyes found Cas's, who paled and quickly looked away, turning back to his notebook. Trying to suppress the urge to vomit, Dean began running through his final monologue. Balthazar's voice called the actors together, explaining that he wanted to run the stumble-through so that they could get at least two good runs out of tonight. Everyone dispersed to their places, Jo opening up the stage's trap door for the scene.

Dean stood next to Sam in the wings, trying to focus on the task at hand, falling into character. Horatio had recently been reunited with Hamlet, so that they had not had enough time to speak. They were returning to Elsinore castle, passing by the graveyard as they traveled. The Gravedigger said their cue, and they entered, Dean trailing behind Sam.

"Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at grave-making?" Sam said, not sounding like Sam at all. Dean watched his brother, awed by how un-Sam-like Sam was. Something in the back of Dean's head clicked. The skin on the back of his neck stood on end, and his stomach felt hollow. Something wasn't right. Dean couldn't put his finger on it, but something about Sam was off.

The King and Queen entered, followed by Laertes and the courtiers, and Sam and Dean stepped away to watch, hiding in the shadows. Dean reached out, and touched Sam's arm, trying to catch his eye and make sure he was okay. Sam ignored him, gently pushing Dean's hand away.

"This is Laertes, a very noble youth," Sam said. Dean reached out again, but Sam pushed his hand away. "Mark!"

"What ceremony else?" Laertes said, staring into the trap door, Ophelia's grave.

"Her obsequies have been as far enlarged as we have warrantise: her death was doubtful; and, but that great command o'ersways the order, she should in ground unsanctified have lodged till the last trumpet," the priest whispered to Laertes.

Angry, Laertes rounded on the priest, "Lay her i' the earth: and from her fair and unpolluted flesh may violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, a ministering angel shall my sister be, when thou liest howling!"

Dean heard Sam gasp, "What, the fair Ophelia!" The catch was far too real, and Dean felt himself turning to the audience, wanting to ask for a break. Balthazar stared at Sam, delight clearly playing across his face. The members of the audience stared, enraptured. No one else suspected that Sam was in danger… danger of what? Across the distance, Dean's eyes met Cas's, and Dean can see that Cas knows. He watches Cas's hand reach out to Balthazar, who pushes it away, unable to take his eyes from Sam.

"What is he whose grief bears such an emphasis?" Sam said, stepping forward. Sam was shaking, his movements wide as he crossed the stage to stand at the foot of the grave, where Laertes was holding Ophelia in his arms. "Whose phrase of sorrow conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I…."

Sam froze, staring into the grave his eyes gone wide. Dean's blood pounded in his ears. Hamlet was gone, and Sam stood frozen in his place. As the silence continued, the other actors shifted uncomfortably onstage. Jo whispered the end of Sam's line. Sam didn't hear, stepping back away from the grave. Dean thought he heard someone speaking, and the other actors seemed to back away into the distance. Sam's eyes turned, searching the stage until they found Dean. "Dean," Sam said, too quiet to hear.

In a moment, Dean was beside Sam, holding his brother as he started to cry, clutching Dean in a tight hug. A hand was on Dean's shoulder, guiding him and Sam away from the stage, into the wings. Jo was barking something about a ten minute break, and then they were through the door that connected the backstage to the hallways beyond. Dean was muttering incoherent comforts to Sam, who gasped for breath beside him. Someone ushered them into a room, sitting them down on a couch. Dean felt hands push him away slightly; Cas positioned himself in front of Sam, strong hands gripping the boy's wrists.

"Sam, you have to listen to me," Cas was saying, his voice calm and commanding. "You need to breath. Just take some deep breaths with me. Okay? In." Sam tried to follow Cas's orders, his breathing slowly steadying itself. Dean felt his own anxiety quietening, Cas's reassuring voice steadying him.

"Now," Cas said, his voice quieter, "What happened?" Sam's breath increased, and Cas had to remind him to breathe.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, and turned to look at his brother. "Dean," he said, tears coming to his eyes.

"Talk to me," Dean said, already knowing what Sam would say.

"I… I saw her," Sam mumbles, his voice cracking. "She was in the grave, and I thought about her being dead." Jess. Dean's heart plummets for his little brother. "I just… I wanted the scene to be good, so I thought about her being dead." Sam starts shaking a little more then, fresh tears falling down his cheeks.

"His girlfriend…" Dean says quietly to Cas, trying to explain for Sam, but the words catch in his throat when he sees the brief flash of confusion and… and something else, something that Dean can't place.

"Not… not Jess," Dean says. His brain is struggling to keep up, too overwhelmed to process everything_. Amelia_. All of Dean's teasing, and Sam had actually liked the girl the entire time. Cas reaches to lay a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"You had a girlfriend," Cas asks quietly. Sam nods. "She… died?"

"Car accident," Sam replies.

"And now there's someone else?" Sam doesn't move, but the answer is obvious. Dean doesn't understand how he could have missed it.

"First things first," Cas says, interrupting Dean's thoughts, "No more Method acting. It's dangerous, and why put yourself through the emotional trauma of having to relive horrible events or invent new ones for yourself." Sam hesitated before nodding. "We can still do the scene. We'll experiment with creating emotion through movement, okay?" Sam nodded. "We're going to communicate more, and not go anywhere dangerous for you, understand?" Sam nods again, this time looking at Cas. "Good," Cas says, his face softening a bit. "And I doubt very much that when she died, she expected for you to stop everything on her behalf." Sam falters before nodding, and suddenly Jo is at his side, handing him water and asking him what she can do. Cas stands, and steps away, and with a quick glance at Sam and hand squeeze, Dean's following Cas out of the room.

"…Hollywood and their bastardized attempt at Stanislavski…" Cas was muttering to himself. His eyes flashed up to Dean's face, and he saw Cas try to unclench his fists. "Sorry, I just… really hate the Method," Cas says by way of explanation.

Dean laughs wetly, trying to keep his emotions in check. "Cas, don't ever change." Cas's lips twitch into a smile. Suddenly, Dean feels himself standing in the alleyway again, Cas pressed tight against him, and he feels himself blanch. The awkwardness of being together alone worms its way between them, and they suddenly can't make eye contact.

"Sorry," Dean stammers, "Sorry about last night."

"Which part?" Cas asks quietly, voice drained of emotion.

Dean hesitates, and he sees Cas notice his pause. "All of it," Dean answers truthfully. Cas stares at the floor, hands pushing against his hips, face blank. "But not…" Cas looks up at him. "I didn't want it to be like that, and leaving you…. And I didn't think…. I'd never… before last night…."

Cas's eyes widen with disbelief. "You're… you didn't...?"

"Yeah."

"Holy shit." Cas stares off into the middle distance behind Dean as he shifts uncomfortably before frowning. "How did you not…?"

"I don't know." Dean's coming dangerously close to admitting something he never knew he had to admit.

"I'm sorry." For a second, Dean is stunned by Cas's whispered apology. "If I had known…"

"No, man…" Dean talks over Cas.

"I wouldn't have…"

"Don't worry about it, really…"

"I would have done it differently."

Dean's mouth flies shut, his eyes snapping to Cas's, who stares back at him, seeming almost as shocked as Dean that he had said this. Jo flies into the hallway, slowly followed by Sam. "Break's over, guys," she says, oblivious to their pale expressions. Dean feels a tentative hand at his elbow, and his arm is immediately around Sam's shoulders. He hears himself asking Sam a question, and Sam replying that he's fine, and then they're following Cas back into the rehearsal space, with Cas casting backward glances at Dean, who feels his chest constricting each time he does.

* * *

The scene goes well, and Dean finds himself laying in his bed, his mind wandering. Sam had passed out the moment he'd gotten home, but Dean couldn't seem to turn off his thoughts. Finally, he grabbed his phone and sent out a text.

12:14am

To CAS: wat did u mean by different?

The darkness of the room swirled around him until he heard his phone vibrate.

12:21am

To Dean Winchester: I'm not sure…

Dean felt his phone vibrate again.

12:21am

To Dean Winchester: Better. Since I was your first.

He's suddenly conscious of his breathing, the feel of the sheets against his skin, the whirl of the ceiling fan. Memories of Cas rise unfiltered to the forefront of his mind.

12:30am

To Dean Winchester: I'm sorry, Dean.

12:34am

To Dean Winchester: Are we okay?

12:35am

To CAS: yea, course we r. cu soon?

12:37am

To Dean Winchester: Sure thing, Dean.

* * *

"We're gonna talk," Dean says when Sam walks in the apartment the next day. Sam sighs, and drops his bag next to the door, shuffling towards the dinner already waiting for him on the table.

"And if I refuse?" Sam asks weakly, digging into the pasta in front of him.

"How long have you liked her?" Dean asks, digging in himself.

"Probably longer than I've known," Sam answers, staring into his plate.

Dean's stomach flips at the familiarity of the statement. "Alright. And what are we going to do about it?"

Sam's eyes snap up. "No."

"Sammy…"

"_We_ are not doing anything." Sam pokes at his food with his fork. "Besides, she doesn't want a boyfriend, or anything."

"Sam, have you _seen_ her with you? You guys stare at each other like fucking puppies."

"I don't believe you." Sam attempts to glare, but his eyes soften. "Really?"

"Ask her to hang out after rehearsal," Dean offered gently. "Tell her what happened last night. She was worried about you, after all."

They ate the rest of their dinner in relative silence, but when Dean called Sam out from his room for rehearsal, there was a smile on his brother's face, and he mumbles something about a party that the cast is going to after rehearsal tonight, and asking Dean if he can go. Smiling, Dean offered Sam a ride, and Sam's face lit up.

Rehearsal couldn't go fast enough, and soon enough the cast was dividing themselves up between cars. Sam and Amelia stood close together, talking quietly and smiling, and Dean told Ash, Jo, and Charlie that they could catch a ride with them. Charlie sat up front, and promptly turned up the radio for a Queen sing-a-long. Everyone in the back was screaming along when she slide closer to Dean, eyeing him up.

"You've been off," she said, watching him from the corner of her eye. "Ever since pub night."

Dean clutched the steering wheel tighter, but otherwise managed to stay calm. "Oh?" he managed to say.

Charlie watched him, the guitar solo pounding through the speakers. "Should I let him know where we're going?"

"Who?" Dean asked lamely. Charlie frowned at Dean. "If you want to," he said quietly.

"If you ever hurt him," Charlie said, but she didn't finish her sentence, because she was already busy typing something into her phone.

There are butterflies when Dean pulls up to the house, people spilling out onto the front porch, smoking and drinking from plastic cups. Everyone in the car disappears quickly, leaving Dean free to walk around the party alone. He sips slowly from a beer, unable to stay in one place or for one conversation for long. He feels his pocket buzz, and there's a text from Charlie:

11:42pm

To Dean: He's here.

His eyes rove the house, but no sign of Cas. Sweat breaks out on his palms, and his chest feels suddenly tight. He needs air, and nearly runs into someone on his way out the door.

"Dean."

The hand on his arm is Cas's, holding him tight against the sudden waves of people pressing against them.

"I was just… going to get some air," Dean says, staring into Cas's eyes. Shit. Those eyes.

"Mind if I come with?"

Instead of answering, Dean takes hold of Cas's wrist and pulls him slightly towards the door. Cas follows, and they're on the back porch. They make small talk, not horribly awkward, and cast members filtering through, saying hello and stopping to chat. Dean kept sneaking glimpses of Cas, stomach flitting, until he realized Cas was doing the same thing. Charlie and Jo appeared, and they all joked together. At one point in the conversation, Dean felt a brush of skin against his arm. He hadn't realized how close he'd gotten to Cas. He moved incrementally closer, causing Cas to break his gaze away from Jo telling them a story look at Dean, a question forming in the curve of his brow. Dean smiled the tiniest bit, and he felt Cas relax next to him.

Jo sees someone she knows, and disappears, Charlie following her so that Dean and Cas are standing alone.

"I think we should talk," Cas says, almost like a question.

"Probably," Dean admits gruffly. They stand in silence, until Dean shakes his head. "Mind if we go for a drive?"

Cas follows Dean to the Impala, sliding into the passenger seat. Dean begins driving, first around the block, and then aimlessly, slowly relaxing into the familiar feeling of the steering wheel under his hands.

"So," Cas starts, staring out the window. "How 'first' was I?"

Dean's jaw tightens.

"Had you ever even kissed a guy?" Dean's silence answers the question. "I feel like I should apologise again."

"I wasn't exactly pushing you away," Dean says quietly.

"We weren't sober enough to be making good decisions," Cas says, running a hand through his hair.

Shoulder's tensing, Dean asks, "So, you regret… what happened?"

Cas shifts uncomfortably. "I feel like I took advantage of the situation."

"Cas, I was the one who jerked you off, remember?" Dean actually sees Cas blush, his anger dissipating at the sight. "Besides, I was the one who ran off on you like a douchebag. I can't believe you're even talking to me right now."

"Really?" Cas seems genuinely surprised, which shocks them both into silence for a mile or two. "I figured you knew already, that's why you followed me," Cas says.

"I didn't even know how _I _felt about you," Dean admits softly. "I'm not even sure I do now."

Houses and trees slide past them out the windows. The car rumbles underneath them, a feeling that is usually comforting, but now only seems to unsettle Dean. "D'you mind if I stop for a second?" Dean asks, and Cas nods. Finding a parking lot, Dean pulls in and parks. He rolls his window down, suddenly needing the air. "You're just…" Dean's saying, rubbing his hands over his eyes in attempt to rub out the right words. "You buy records, and make armour, and love theatre more than sex, and listen to music alone in the auditorium when you think everyone's left, and when you touch me I get this shivers and it's freaking me out, and I'd rather just be friends." Dean looks at Cas, who watches him evenly.

"How…" Cas's lips begin to form, but he pushes them closed. Moonlight and streetlights press their way into the car, casting shadows over Cas's face. Dean feels the pull of the familiar feelings Cas always draws out of him when they're together. Once again, he tries to push it down, like he always does, but he's finding himself too tired to manage it. Light edges Cas's profile in silvery-whiteness, his lips pursing. Dean sighed, "Cas, man, I don't know what to do."

A hand comes to steady Dean's shoulder. "It's… fine, Dean. Whatever you need…" but the look Dean gives him halts his words. Dean's hand reaches out and finds Cas, somehow through that touch expressing all of his wants and fears and needs, and from this touch, Cas knows to lean forward, catch Dean's lips in his own, and stop anymore words or doubts from coming out of Dean.


End file.
